Heroin
by Camikingst
Summary: There is only one thing we can assure about Jim Moriarty, he's completely obsessed with Sherlock Holmes, ever since the murder of the young Carl Powers brought them together, remaining apart from Sherlock seems to be more difficult for him every time, so he doesn't, not for long anyways.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1 : mundane rules.**

It was about midnight and they were both sitting on the university's pool deck playing this 'truth or dare' game, with an empty vodka bottle, they might be truly bored or very drunk to be doing this, or maybe even both.

"Okay, I'm waiting," Sherlock said folding his arms over his chest while trying to hold a serious expression upon his face, his right eyebrow rose in the air and he had to start chewing on his inner cheek to avoid the chuckle that no matter what he did threatened to leave his mouth, since he took his eighth or tenth sip of the now empty bottle lying on the floor beside him, "come on, just do the freaking jump Jim."

"If you so desperately want to see me jump from that trampoline, then you'll have to do it yourself first," the shorter boy stated, crossing his arms over his chest as well, ready to start an staring contest with his roommate if necessary.

"I'm not supposed to do it! I asked you «truth or dare» and you chose dare," Sherlock began explaining in a childish way, using all his self-restraint to avoid sticking his tongue out like some eight year old would do in this situation, "now, get up and do the damn jump, James!" this time he couldn't stop himself and his tongue stuck out of his mouth, like that was the action that sealed the deal of his imminent victory in this mundane game they were playing.

"No, I won't," Jim singsonged in a high pitched voice, "unless you do it first."

"What's the point of playing stupid games of ordinary people, if you won't follow ordinary people's rules?"

"Who knows? Why don't you jump and we find out?" he offered Sherlock with a smug smile spinning the bottle over the pool deck that separated the distance between their thighs, "following the rules Sherlock, it's just so boring, that's the main reason you are so boring honey, you are on the side of the angels, for a high functioning sociopath, you are surprisingly good at following rules, you may say you don't care, but I highly doubt you are able to break them," there it was, he had pulled Sherlock strings as far as they possibly went, now he just had to sit back and watch him dance.

An instant later Sherlock rose from his place on the pool deck, letting his coat fall beside his already removed shoes and socks, followed by his button-up shirt and his tight black trousers. He was plenty aware of Jim's glance fixed on his almost completely exposed body, but he still made his graceful walk towards the trampoline stairs, as graceful as his intoxicated self could manage walking anyways and he climbed all the way up, just as Jim expected him to do, because he had a point to prove and a mouth to keep shut.

"You don't know me, James Moriarty," he states looking down at Jim from the edge of the platform, but from that height he doesn't notice how Jim's mouth moves in perfect sync with his own, anticipating his intended point.

"I know you better than anyone, Sherlock Holmes," the boy said loud enough for Sherlock to hear, giving him the last push he needed to jump.

"No, you don't know me at all," he responded and then he threw himself into the pool in a perfectly performed jump, "your turn," Sherlock exclaimed emerging from the water already knowing Jim would refuse.

"I think I'll owe you a fall, dear" Jim said without appearing impressed at all for his perfect performance up there, "but let me tell you something, Sherly, I thought I knew you well—, not perfectly."

"And explain me something Jimmy, Why do you think you know me perfectly?"

"I think I know you perfectly,

because I knew you would jump just to prove I wasn't right about you, but I was so right it actually pains me, now that I know you'll go to heaven, angel, while I burn in hell," Jim clicked his tongue, somehow gutted by how easy was to foresee Shelock's decisions, he was normally less predictable and yet again there was this vodka bottle he had trick him into drinking almost completely on his own, "I also know that right now, you are dying to kiss me," he added in a whisper, eyes burying furiously into his, tempting his fate, provoking the odds of Sherlock's behavior.

Like a magnet Sherlock approached the brazen offerer's daring invite.

"No, I'm not," he proclaimed, doubt creeping up his voice like a virus consuming all the data stored in a hard drive.

"Okay maybe you're not," he said not wholeheartedly convinced of his words, "but—, I don't care about your wishes, I only care about mine," Jim dropped with his characteristical psycho grin plastered on his mouth, pushing Sherlock's insides to shiver, if it was from excitement or fear he didn't know, but he felt Jim's legs surrounding his waist and pulling him closer and he did nothing to fight the tug driving him to the inevitable position of Jim hungry parted lips. The kiss was passionate and sloppy thanks to the big amounts of alcohol the were drinking all night, but it left the same longing taste of loneliness in both of them, when they inevitably broke apart to breathe, probably the feeling of their last night together breaking its way through their joined foreheads and their tangled feeling heavy breathings crashing on each others lips.

Jim gave all of he in that kiss, almost as if it was his last night with Sherlock and it really was, their last night together in a long long time.

"I better be off," Jim said letting Sherlock free from his grip.

"Will I see you around?' Sherlock asked, knowing this was the moment he had been fearing for months, the inevitable moment when Jim disappeared from his life.

"Of course dear, what would a demon like me do without his angel?" Jim questioned rising from his place by the pool and walking with his shoes in his hand towards the nearest exit.

"Die out of boredom?" Sherlock offered watching him part and as the young Jim crossed the door he suddenly dropped the desperate plea threatening to leave his mouth, "will you please stay one more night Jimmy?" But he reckoned that due to the distance Jim had already walked through he couldn't possibly have heard him.

AN/: this story was born a few years ago when my English was a lot worse than it is now. It was a one-shot I wrote when I first started shipping Sheriarty, but now that I'm obsessing about it once again I decided to continue it and it will narrate all the times Sherlock and Jim have crossed paths in my mind, because I refuse to believe Jim just kept Carl's shoes and waited all those years doing nothing until he finally sent those cases to Sherlock, no, that's not how obsession works.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: New acquaintances.**

Breaking into a public place isn't much of a great feat, but try doing it when you are only thirteen years old and the complete building is surrounded by policemen investigating a crime scene.

No, that hadn't been a crime, he had made sure it didn't look like it, Carl Powers death, had been a tragic accident, that was all it was, young athletic swimmer ends up drowning during swimming competition, the things British police let themselves be fooled by, all those brains in the police forces and not a single one to compare his own, played by a teenager like plastic soldiers sent into battle on a mined play mat.

That left a lot to be desired from the United Kingdom security, Jim thought stripping down to his bath suit, ready to jump into the waters that with his help had snapped the life out of the «promising» young idiot that once had been his bully classmate. Carl had laughed at him, so he had stopped him laughing.

He let his body sink down to the pristine white bottom of the tiled public pool. One million bubbles blurted out of his nostrils in his attempt to remain under the surface, creating a fizzy feeling around his skin as each one of them slid against his face on their way up, it was a pleasant enough feeling considering it meant he was losing all the precious oxygen he needed to stay underwater. With this little predicament in mind he let out a guffaw. Far more oxygen gone to waste.

Life was just a big cosmic joke. Either you get what you want or what you need, but you inevitably never need what you really want.

In that moment, reaching the bottom of the pool with near to no oxygen filling his lungs, Jim felt more than alive, surrounded by the water Carl had died into and consumed by the same feeling of desperation. Wanting to breathe but being unable to. It was glorious, almost intimate, like he was a crucial part of what had taken place in this exact location a few days before and in all sense of word, he really was. So he started laughing, roaring with laughter underwater, until the last bit of oxygen in his lungs vanished like it had never been truly there, it left an utterly exasperating feeling of despair crawling up his insides to his throat and he had to fight his self-survival instinct to remain just where he was, like any ordinary person trying to avoid succumbing to the inevitable pull of a defective failure in the DNA codification.

Surviving was just so human, the bug in the code leading to the inevitably common inquest: what for?

He wasn't quite sure what thrilled him so much about being down there underwater, drowning himself to death. Was it even possible to drown yourself to death? No, mother nature had made sure of one thing, you never surrender to the intake of water in your lungs unless you have ultimately no other alternative than to breathe in the water, which was sadly not his case, but the thrill was overwhelming, whether it was because of the pleasant feeling of revenge or the pure satisfaction of how effortlessly it had been achieved, he didn't know.

When you are drowning it's not the lack of oxygen what actually kills you, is the volume of fluid lodged into your pleural cavity, compressing the lung.

He swam to the surface in a last desperate attempt to cling to dear life, with the empowerment of the unshakable belief of a god complex settling down in the back of his brain, why should he settle for the boredom of a mundane life, when he could just sit back and watch the world dance at his command. Playing god was just so much more fun.

The sound of clapping snapped him out of the mesmerizing trance he fell into when the needed oxygen finally found its way into his suffocated body, he craned his neck around until he found him, a brunette boy of approximately eight years, sitting on the pool deck with an expectant expression upon his face.

"For a moment there, I actually thought you were going to drown," the little boy's voice echoed through the place.

"And there you are, still sitting on the deck—, most people would try to help or at least find someone who would," Jim singsonged finding the boy amusing and a tiny bit interesting. How had that infant even gotten past the policemen standing outside. Could he possibly be the child of one of those incompetent idiots?

"I'm not most people," the kid crossed his arms stubbornly upon his chest, "my calculations indicated, that because of your size and the quick dispose of oxygen, you should have reached the surface half a minute before than you actually did and I am rarely wrong. " I have frowned.

"You missed the factor of determination, whether I was keen to reach the surface or I wanted to stay in the bottom," Jim offered the boy swimming to his position.

"Should I suggest a sack of rocks or a gigantic feast right before your next attempt, because just so you know there is no such thing as a swimmer's" accidental "drowning and you seem like a decent enough swimmer in my opinion."

Jim eyebrows darted up slightly, could this little boy be implying something concerning to the young Carl Powers «unfortunate» death. Was it already Christmas by any chance?

"I'll keep it in mind," the teenager said pushing himself out of the pool to sit beside the boy on the pool deck, "Jim Moriarty," he said, extending his hand to shake with the boy's.

"Sherlock Holmes, pleasure," the boy said almost bored, this was new, normally Jim was the first to get bored in any conversation, "now if you excuse me I was in the middle of a murder investigation."

Apparently it was Christmas indeed.

"Is that so? What are you then? Sherlock the younger prodigy of the police academy?" Jim mocked but his face failed to hide his new found interest, in the kid who showed up out of nowhere.

"Those useless idiots? Bah! I rather work alone," Sherlock waved his hands dismissively at the inquiry, ignoring the mocking connotation completely, he then got to his feet and pulling his magnifying glass from his pocket headed over to the locker room.

"Do you need help by any chance?" Jim asked following the boy with a lazy pace, water dripping off his body.

"You would only slow me down," Sherlock quickly answered, he then turned around, "no offense intended," he added noncommittally.

"None taken," Jim laughed, no longer trying to hide how amusing he found the boy, "you would be surprised how useful I would be for your investigation, but I'll better zip it and let you do your thing, if you don't mind having me as an observer."

Sherlock shrugged and started pacing around the locker room, searching for any clue that led him to the unsolved mystery of Carl Powers death.

Jim didn't know what had him so on edge, as he watched young Sherlock examine his crime scene with that magnifying glass of his, if it was the possibility of being caught after he had been positively sure no one would, or that it was no other than an infant the one who could. Somehow he actually hoped that this kid could indeed solve his crime, because that meant he wouldn't be playing this game alone anymore. A new playmate would be added to the match, and the only possibility of this happening, was exciting to the point of making him bounce on his toes waiting for a verdict, an accusing look, anything, at this point he would settle for just a knowing glance darted back at him. Sherlock however remained silent, making Jim internally beg for him to show off and when he finally opened his mouth to share his conjecture, they heard the indistinct sound of steps approaching and two men talking just outside the door.

"I told you I saw some kid prowling around the building earlier and now there are those clothes by the pool," Jim had the need to face-palm, when he realized he had forgotten his clothes outside in the excitement of the moment.

"Do you think it's his ghost?" the man asked with a shaky voice and this time Jim really face-palmed, were this really the brains upon which their security depended.

Jim rolled his eyes blank and then pulled Sherlock behind a wall of lockers and holding his hand around the little one's mouth. Sherlock huffed against his hand, but he still didn't let go of his grip, because the agents entered the room.

"Don't be ridiculous, just look around for any kid, there is obviously a little intruder in the building," the other officer added wittily.

Jim looked down at his feet and saw the clear path of water leading all the way to their hideaway. However the men seemed to be either blind or stupid enough as to don't follow it.

Jim tried to find a way out of the situation, but Sherlock was faster to find it, he threw his magnifying glass through the door at their right leading to the showers and the men run in through the other door to see what was the cause of the sound and they managed to sneak away rapidly from the locker room, finding Jim's clothes on their way out of the building.

They burst out laughing when they were several blocks away, Jim brushed his wet hair back with his fingers and waited for Sherlock to say anything, hopefully about the murder.

"Good night, Jim Moriarty," the boy said walking away, like nothing had happened.

"Wait, Sherlock?" Jim run after him still trying to squeeze himself into his trousers, "you have to tell me what you found back there," he said stopping the kid by his arm.

"No I don't," Sherlock said and with a pull he got rid of Jim's grip to keep walking.

"Fair enough, see you around then Sher-lock," the older boy hissed lingering on the noun longer than necessary.

AN/: I don't think I need to tell you that this story won't be necessarily chronological, because you already got that from this chapter, hope you are enjoying this, if so please let me know, also just to clarify according to my research Sherlock was six years old when Jim was thirteen and this happened, but let's say he is just tall for his age. What is doing a six year old boy alone in the street presumably at night, it's beyond my understanding.


End file.
